Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum Taster Chapters
by GhostForce1911
Summary: Abducted by the rogue Asgard Loki after ten years at Privet Drive, Harry is rescued by Thor then raised by the Asgard after being identified as a close genetic descendant of their old allies the Alterans. Fast forward to 1997, and Harry is now ready to return home, to assist the SGC in kicking Goa'uld butt. First chapter of the 'REAL' story is now up with some changes, see profile.
1. Greetings, Earthlings!

Disclaimer: I am in fact JKR under a pseudonym ...

Just kidding. Had you going there, didn't I? I do not, in fact, own anything.

Firstly some self promotion: If you've just come across this story but haven't yet read **Per Ardua Ad Astra**, my Stargate Atlantis/Harry Potter crossover story, please have a look for it on this website. More readers and reviewers are always welcome, and bribed with electronic cookies.

A/N PLEASE READ: So, even though I've been writing _Per Ardua Ad Astra_ for a few months now, this was actually mostly written before that and wouldn't get out of the back of my mind. THIS IS SIMPLY A TEASER! Right now I want to focus on _Per Ardua_ for obvious reasons (I'm nearly 80,000 words in and have barely covered the first three episodes – it looks like it's going to be a very, very long story, which I'm thoroughly looking forward to writing!) However, I do want to write an HP/Stargate SG1 crossover at some point in the future, and right now this is my experimental chapter.

Please review! I want to know if I'm going in the right direction with this!

Finally, I usually reply to reviews/PMs if they contain questions or suggestions, although reviews that just state general approval for the story are of course welcome too. I'm always open to other people pinging me with their own ideas - I know how much of a time commitment writing can be, and how hard it can be to summon the courage to put a little bit of yourself online like that. It took me several years of reading FanFic to get my act together on that front; if anyone who doesn't feel ready to publish their own stories but wants to contribute ideas/plots etc to mine, I'm always happy to reply and discuss/debate them.

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**Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum - If You Wish For Peace, Prepare for War**

**(Experimental) Chapter 1 - "Greetings, Earthlings"**

"_Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."_

_Arthur C. Clarke_

* * *

It had been one hell of a day for one Captain Samantha Carter, United States Air Force. As if it wasn't stressful enough to be a key member of the most highly classified US military unit since the Manhattan Project, crazy things just seemed to happen all the time around here. Of course, she really should be used to it by now, what with the whole travelling-to-other-planets thing; oh, and the being-shot-at-by-aliens thing that also occurred on a regular basis. Still, this sort of thing was just _crazy_.

That morning, Daniel had taken delivery of what turned out to be a Goa'uld Sarcophagus, a bulky device with healing and restorative powers that no one, apparently not even the Goa'uld, fully understood. Then _some woman_, who had turned out to be Hathor, Egyptian goddess of fertility, had shown up and started seducing every male on the base, except Teal'c, whose deadpan poker face apparently gave him immunity, although his Jaffa symbiote might have had something to do with it as well. Apparently Hathor had been in stasis for a few thousand years in the sarcophagus as punishment for something or other – _probably sleeping around too much_.

_God, my inner voice is bitchy today._

That probably had something to do with the bullets that were flying overhead. Having eventually realised that Hathor was bad news, Sam, Teal'c and some other female personnel who weren't affected by Hathor's feminine charms had assaulted the throne room (actually the male locker room, which seemed rather stereotypically high school). They had failed, been locked up, seduced their way out again (god, that had been cringe-worthy, but it had worked), rescued Teal'c having KO'd General Hammond, who was probably going to have her court-martialed when he woke up, and went back to the locker room. Having dodged Hathor's apparently extremely limited observational skills, Teal'c and Janet Fraiser had helped her drag a critically wounded Colonel O'Neill down to the Sarcophagus to fix his immune system, which had been removed, apparently as the first stage of Jaffa symbiote implantation. Which now led to _this_ sticky situation. Pinned down by fire from _her own_ side, behind an alien device of unknown fragility. _Maybe if we can just slip out the other door behind us_...

A screech of "_**STOP**__!_" came from over by the mind-controlled security officers. "**You will harm our new Jaffa!**" _Great, now Queen Stripper's shown up. Better and better_.

The Sarcophagus began to open above her. _Oh crap, not now, not now!_ She heard Colonel O'Neill's voice say, completely normally, as if he _wasn't_ staring down the barrels of two MP5's and a deranged alien goddess' death stare; "What's goin' on?"

_I swear, the day that man takes anything seriously is the day the sun explodes._

But then, as Hathor raised her hand device, presumably to smite the ever-irreverent O'Neill, the gate activated. The spinning ring and automatic blaring alarm and red flashing lights distracted the Goa'uld, allowing O'Neill to vault out of the Sarcophagus and join Sam in cover behind it. Handing him a spare MP5, Sam quipped, "Nice of you to join us, sir."

"Oh, you know me, Carter, always leaving things until the last possible minute," O'Neill snarked right back. They both held their fire, unwilling to chance hitting the SO's if they opened up on Hathor, who was ignoring them and watching the Gate intently.

As the seventh chevron locked in, the Iris automatically closed off the gate, and the back wall of the Gate Room displayed the rippling water effect of an active wormhole. Seeing the security device kick in, Hathor crowed in triumph.

"**So, no-one can come to your aid, pathetic humans. You would have made strong Jaffa.**" _Are we pathetic, or strong? Make your mind up, crazy bitch._

As the Goa'uld raised her hand again, preparing to blast them with a wave of energy, the iris, with a suspiciously perfect sense of dramatic timing, slid open again. Once more, all eyes in the room were drawn to the Stargate.

A humanoid figure stepped smoothly through the event horizon, apparently familiar with and unfazed by the transition from being de- and then re-molecularised. About six foot tall, dressed in some kind of all-black armour and full-face helmet with a gloss black visor, it raised a weapon, also matt black, about the length of an M16 with a roughly similar appearance – pistol grip, foregrip, long barrel – but where the Earth analogue was angular and boxy, this weapon was curved, sinuous, almost artistic in its ergonomic functionality. Twin barrels protruded at the end, one above the other and both of the same apparent calibre, if the weapon was indeed ballistic in nature. It quickly became apparent that it wasn't.

The weapon whined, high-pitched but quiet, like an electric motor spinning up, then spat a rapid burst of red bolts at the indoctrinated security officers. Before they had time to do much more than widen their eyes, they were sliding to the ground against the wall, unconscious. Hathor fled, having been stood just inside the door, out of the line of fire.

O'Neill and Sam rose from behind the Sarcophagus, covering the visitor, while Fraiser, unarmed, ripped some field dressings out of her body armour's pouches and began to patch Teal'c up.

Colonel O'Neill opened dialogue with this new, armed and apparently dangerous arrival with his customary diplomatic aplomb – otherwise known as bluntness. "Who are you and what d'ya want?" _Great start, sir._ To her surprise, however, the unknown warrior just lowered his weapon and shook his head slightly.

"Isn't it a little rude to be so brusque towards the man who just saved your life?" the alien soldier stated clearly, in English, with a slight accent that Sam couldn't place. He seemed more amused than threatened by the Colonel however, and began walking down the gate ramp with his weapon held in a loose combat stance, pointed towards the still-open blast door and carefully away from the watchful Air Force officers.

"We've been monitoring your operations here for the last few years, Colonel. When our surveillance showed clear evidence of a foothold situation involving the Goa'uld, we decided to intervene before your government could do anything too catastrophic, like initiate the self-destruct or something."

"You've been monitoring us? Who are you? For that matter, who is 'we', anyway?" Sam asked.

"All in good time, Captain. Let's deal with Hathor first, then we can get to the questions and answers. You can call me Magni."

As the now-named Magni stepped off the ramp, just a couple of metres away, Sam could now see the armour in more detail than before. Underneath was a black bodysuit of some type of material with a hexagonal honeycomb pattern, probably energy absorbent. Above that was attached, apparently without straps or any other means of being secured, segments of armour covering the soldier's shins, knees, thighs, forearms, and lower abdomen. A larger, single-piece chestplate, thicker than the others covered that part of his body, including a high 'collar' to protect the neck, while rounded pauldrons covered the shoulders and upper arms in a single piece. On the left shoulder was an insignia of some sort, three interlocking white triangles on the black background, while on the right was a clear silhouette of the Milky Way Galaxy, with some sort of symbol over it Sam was sure Daniel would have more chance at identifying. While the undersuit was black, the armour segments themselves were a very dark charcoal grey, almost the same colour but not quite. A combat harness of ran around his waist, with more pouches on the left thigh and chest plate too. On his right thigh there was a side-arm holster of some description, and an ergonomic backpack rode on the back half of the chest armour, also black and made of fabric and what looked like a carbon fibre-type material for flexibility and light weight.

"Did you kill them?" the colonel questioned, as he tilted his head towards the downed airmen by the door.

"No. Stun rounds only," 'Magni' reassured him. "Don't worry, O'Neill, I know your people are under the influence of Hathor's pheronome technology. Hathor is the only one I'll kill today." His voice was cold as he made that promise. "Once she's dead, her direct influence over your people will cease. It'll take a few days for the chemical to work its way out of your peoples' systems, but barring a mild headache there should be no side effects. At least, that's my best guess. Hathor's been missing for two thousand years, so we don't know if her technology has been altered or not."

"Okay." O'Neill came to a decision, and lowered his MP5. "Our intel says she's been imprisoned in this sarcophagus," this with a nod at the large gold box between them, "for two thousand years or so for pissing off Ra."

"Never a good idea, that. Pissing off Ra, I mean. Speaking of Ra, thanks for knocking him off last year, did us a big favour there."

"Really?"

"Oh yeah. The whole Goa'uld political system dissolved into chaos when they found out the Supreme System Lord was dead; the rest of the System Lords started fighting a multi-way galactic civil war which has left plenty of openings for my operations in the last year."

"Glad to be of service," was O'Neill's only slightly sarcastic reply. "What about Hathor?"

"Oh, well." Magni lowered the weapon, and tapped something on his left wrist. O'Neill, Sam and Teal'c looked on curiously as a miniature, 3D holographic diagram of Cheyenne Mountain base's lower levels appeared suspended above his forearm. O'Neill and Sam gaped; Fraiser spared it a glance before going back to bandaging up Teal'c. Fancy new toys could wait until she'd treated him.

The map showed four green dots and one white dot in the gate room, easily found as it was at the bottom of the silo shaft that went all the way up to the surface. "That's us," Magni pointed. "That's Hathor," now pointing at a red dot that was moving rapidly away down the corridor from the gate room, just reaching the elevator banks on the other side of the floor. "Energy signature makes her incubation room … here." He pointed at the locker room on Level 25. "She'll gather more thralls and return with more firepower, so we should move quickly. Have you got any Zat'nik'tels to hand?"

"What're they?"

"Goa'uld stun guns, rather painful but effective." Magni unclipped his backpack and set it down. It unsealed along some unnoticeable seam and he withdrew three sleek silver pistols, and fiddled with them for a second until a strip of lights glowed red along the barrel. "These are similar, because they stun with one hit. Power cell's only good for fifty shots, so here are some spares," he pulled out three black oblong boxes with glowing red strips like the guns. "They load like your side-arms inside the grip, so it'll be familiar." He handed them to the two officers, and tossed one to Teal'c who caught it in his off-hand, his right bicep having a 9mm Parabellum hole through it.

"Cool!" O'Neill crowed, looking down the sights. "Finally, some space guns. I mean, they're not big honkin' space guns, but good enough!" Sam and Fraiser rolled their eyes simultaneously. Even Magni just shook his head, seemingly amused, but his expression was unreadable behind the black tinted visor.

"Will you take the helmet off please?" Sam asked him, suddenly wanting to know who this unknown but very proficient individual was.

Magni shook his head again as he shouldered the pack. "Pheromones are still in the air, Captain. I _think _I'd be immune, but I have no wish to test that for real. My suit's environmental system is locked down tight right now, so the helmet stays on." He pointed to the map again. "To summarize, the objective is the neutralisation of Hathor. Get rid of her, and the mind control will slip to a point. Those already under her influence will continue to obey any open-ended standing orders for about twenty four hours unless I can get a counter-toxin into the air filtration systems."

"Why don't we just do that to start with?" Sam asked. "Seems simpler."

"As long as Hathor is still releasing the pheromones, which according to my intel she does pretty much continuously, the antidote would not have the desired effect. Only if the source is shut off can the antidote fully decontaminate the base's atmosphere. That won't take long, maybe fifteen minutes at my guess."

"Okay." Sam nodded as did O'Neill.

"So, you have a plan, O strange heavily-armoured alien warrior?"

The helmet tilted to her. "Is he always like this?"

She glanced at O'Neill, and then nodded firmly. "You have no idea."

"I see. Well, from my quick scans we can either take an elevator or what I presume is the emergency ladder up to Level 25. Elevator is far too obvious, and while they may have the ladder guarded it'll still be easier to fight through."

"Got it." The two Air Force officers moved away to the far door.

"How's he doing, Doctor?"

Fraiser looked up. "He'll be fine, a symbiote's a wonderful thing to have, enslavement not withstanding."

"You combat capable, big guy?"

"Although it shames me to say so, no I am not, stranger." Teal'c said, his deep voice clearly strained with pain.

"Understood. The two of you find some place to hide, supply room or wherever. We'll come get you as soon as this is dealt with."

A few minutes later saw the three of them quietly climbing the emergency ladder up past Level 24. Normally, the armoured access hatches on each level were kept securely locked, and a watch maintained both at the surface and on Level 11, the 'switch' level where visitors to the lower levels had to change to a different elevator to gain access; the ladder did the same thing. The locked _and_ padlocked hatch had slowed Magni all of a second; all he'd done was run his hand over the things and they'd clicked open instantly.

Now, the Level 25 hatch unlocked just as easily, and the trio stepped out, covering the corridor in both directions. They made an odd team, Sam noted in passing as the two Earth natives covered one direction while Magni knelt and covered the other with his rifle – she, in woodland camo and MP5 slung on her back; O'Neill, with his green BDU shirt still fully unbuttoned, dog tags hanging out; and the as-yet-mysterious Magni, in his bulky, clearly insanely advanced hologram-projecting, light-absorbing black-and-grey combat armour. Sam was already wondering if she'd get the chance to examine it, but frankly she was as curious about the man underneath as the armour itself. He clearly had a detailed tactical information on what was going on before he arrived through the gate – he'd known it was Hathor, he'd been ready for combat in the gate room, and he'd brought spare weapons designed to be easy for them to use (which could have been a coincidence but her gut was screaming 'NO WAY'); the sum total of which frankly scared the shit out of her – if his people or race could spy on them in that kind of detail without even a hint of surveillance, through the gate or otherwise, then how on Earth (literally) could the SGC expect to keep any secrets at all?

Her train of thought was cut off as O'Neill muttered "Clear right!" _Back to work, Sam. You can get back to being a genius scientist later, right now you're a soldier._

Surprisingly Magni echoed it immediately, as if he was used to using urban warfare drills. "Clear left. Corridor clear. I'll take point. Hathor's still in her incubation room, but it's on the other side of the floor, and I've got multiple friendlies between the two. We're going to have to fight our way through."

"Got a plan?"

"Yep." Magni pulled open a pouch, and removed a chrome cylinder with a blue band. Sam saw a clear safety cap with a red button under it on the top.

"Stun grenade." Magni told them. "Gives off a low-frequency EM pulse, which causes neural overload on organics without damaging electrical equipment. No long-term side effects on humans, but it'll hurt like hell for a few hours when they wake up."

"They'll deal with it." O'Neill smirked.

The first guard they encountered turned the corner behind them and stopped in surprise. O'Neill, on rear-guard, nailed him in the chest with a pulse of red light from his new weapon.

"Cool!"

Sam once again rolled her eyes. _I seem to do that a hell of a lot around the Colonel. _

Magni peeked around the corner in front, then pulled back as a short burst of nine mil rounds ricocheted off the wall. "I do hope this isn't Earth's usual standard of hospitality," he quipped, and then underarmed the grenade around the corner towards the mind-controlled security officers.

"Oh no, we're much friendlier than this!" O'Neill argued, still scanning behind them. Magni's reply was lost as a crackling wave of blue energy shot out of the corridor junction and dissipated in a few seconds against the far wall.

Even as the military officers' jaws hit the ground simultaneously at the incredible light show, Magni was up and moving into the corridor, rifle tucked into his shoulder, eye to the scope. An SO who stepped out of a side door was met with a precise three-pulse burst of actinic red light. As Sam and O'Neill caught up, he had reached the next junction, and moved across it.

Ten metres to the locker room.

Five metres. No targets.

Zero. The thin wooden door caved under an armoured boot.

The locker room entrance was shielded from the corridor by a tiled wall, blocking the view and providing paths around it to the left and right. Magni swept right, Sam left, and O'Neill covered the corridor. Again, the armoured soldier's quick look around the corner was met with a burst of gunfire.

"Fine. Time for finesse is over." Magni muttered. He popped around the wall, sprayed a quick burst as bullets sparked off his shoulder pauldron, then ducked back. Sam noticed the suppressive fire was suddenly diverted to his side of the barrier, and leaned out herself, hitting an airman. Magni finished off the remaining man a second later, leaving Hathor, crouched behind a tile barrier, and two unarmed men flanking her still standing – Daniel and General Hammond, Sam realised. She hesitated for a moment, still unwilling to shoot her friend or CO.

Magni had no such issues. Hathor glowered in rage as her two remaining thralls dropped where they stood under a short barrage of red energy.

"**Foolish humans**." She stood, raising and charging the _kara kesh_, "**Now you will **–"

She never finished the sentence, as the alien soldier shot her too.

Four camouflage uniformed airmen, Daniel and the General lay sprawled in the room. Hathor herself had fallen on top of Daniel, and Magni crouched over her, apparently scanning her neck and head with some sort of white glowing-stone-jewel thing.

"Uh...what are you doing there, if I may ask?" Sam ventured, checking around in case more thralls showed up.

"Checking if the Goa'uld symbiote can be safely removed from the host. If Hathor is as old as I think, especially after so much time in a sarcophagus, there's a good chance that won't be possible ... which is in fact the case. If I take the snaky bitch out, the host will die shortly after. And there's not much point keeping Hathor inside the host for interrogation, because any tactical, strategic or scientific knowledge she has is two thousand years out of date. Okay, sorry about this, whoever you were, but this way is better."

There was a quick flash of white, and Magni straightened. "What was that?" O'Neill demanded.

"I removed the symbiote, which is now contained in a demolecularized state in this," Magni replied evenly, holding up the jewel-device. Sam could now see a line of some sort of symbols in black standing out against the white surface. "The host will now pass away peacefully, and the Goa'uld can be analysed later; I want to know if the pheromone trick is some sort of individual genetic quirk of Hathor or some sort of bio-cybernetic implant."

"Wait, you're just going to let her die? The host I mean. Isn't there anything that you can do?" O'Neill was both confused and a little angry at that Magni could apparently write off of a human life so callously.

"Yes. If you had spent the last several thousand or so years as the vehicle for a mass murdering megalomaniac basically relegated to an observer in your own body while someone else - a very evil someone else, I should point out – controlled it and did terrible things with it as you watched, wouldn't you prefer a quiet, peaceful demise? Keeping Hathor in the host was not a good option; she was a potential escape risk, and your people could have taken casualties in that escape. I removed the risk."

O'Neill seemed to be mollified somewhat by that explanation. "What now?"

"Well, now we need to disperse the antidote through the air circulation."

Half an hour later, that was accomplished, and the three were waiting for a few minutes to let the fans distribute the antidote Magni claimed would remove the mind-control influence. Both Sam and O'Neill, (the latter of whom was far more experienced at infantry combat from his years in Cold War black-ops groups) had been extremely impressed with Magni's conduct under fire. He was disciplined, methodical and had cat-quick reactions and clearly had a lot of experience fighting in close quarters.

"Any side effects to the counter-whatsit?" O'Neill asked, nodding at the now empty container Magni was stowing away in his pack.

"It'll feel like they've blacked out for the period they were under the pheromone's influence; they might have vague memories at best. I suggest you find General Hammond, and get the base back under control. I'll wait with Colonel O'Neill in the conference room; Captain Carter would be best to find the General, since she wasn't under mind control and can give a better explanation."

Sam and the Colonel agreed. The still-disoriented base personnel would probably not take kindly to the heavily armoured and armed alien wandering about the base. In the conference room, Jack's presence would keep any fearful, recovering guards from opening fire while Sam went to get the base commander.

The better part of an hour later, after a quick PA address from General Hammond and a medical checkup of the senior staff by Dr Fraiser, the portly commander of the SGC along with his flagship team and quite a few other personnel were gathered in the Sub Level 27 conference room, trying their best not to stare in frank curiosity at the still-helmeted Magni, who was standing looking out through the Gate Room windows. The General came straight to the point.

"Who are you?"

Magni turned from the windows and reached up to remove the helmet. None of the SGC personnel knew what to expect – yes, the guy was humanoid, but that didn't necessarily mean human. They didn't have anything to worry about, however, in that regard, as the head that was revealed was clearly _homo sapiens_. Raven black hair, cut short but still slightly messy regardless, and startlingly intense emerald green eyes set into a young face.

"Jesus! You're just a teenager!" O'Neill was too astonished to hold it in.

"I'm actually twenty seven, colonel."

"You certainly don't look it, son." said Hammond, sensing a potential confrontation coming. But Magni was still calm.

"Yeah, I know. I had my growth accelerated then slowed somewhat –"

"Wait!" Jackson interrupted Everyone looked at him. "I've got it. In Norse mythology, Magni is one of the sons of Thor; the name means 'strength,' I believe. Colonel O'Neill and Teal'c encountered a projection on Cimmeria that identified itself as, 'Thor, Supreme Commander of the Asgard Fleet.' Any relation there?"

Magni laughed. "Yes, Thor is my father. Adopted father, actually, since he isn't human, and I'm far younger than the myth of 'Magni'. Thanks for finally proving my point about the Hammer, by the way. Thor was notified when you broke it, and had to concede that I was right all along about the potential, and indeed the need for Jaffa to come over to our side. You, Teal'c," he said, with a nod at the stoic Jaffa, "have been cleared to enter any of the Protected World's defence systems. You won't ever be wrongly targeted like on Cimmeria. In our defence, The Hammer isn't telepathic; no Jaffa had ever, to the best of our knowledge, overtly changed sides against the System Lords for thousands of years, so we had to assume any Jaffa coming through were hostile."

"Wait, your adopted father isn't human? Thor's hologram looked pretty human to me." O'Neill argued.

"Yes, and he also wore obsolete metal-and-leather armour and carried a _battle mallet_. Honestly, colonel, did you really think the culture which built something like Thor's Hammer still used actual hammers in combat? A hologram looks and sounds like whatever we want it to be. That specific image is used by my father to contact primitive worlds or deceive the Jaffa when necessary. In reality the Asgard are only about a metre tall, with grey skin and are not physically very strong. They've been space-faring for over a million years, and whatever they may have looked like in the past they have now evolved to be completely reliant on their extremely advanced technology. Fortunately, very nearly every Asgard has a genius level intellect and an insanely high standard of education, so they're perfectly capable of maintaining their technological superiority. However, that's one reason I came through the gate – the Asgard don't really do ground combat, and although they could have swept up Hathor and resolved this situation from low orbit, they couldn't have done so covertly. That's my function in this galaxy; keeping an eye on the Goa'uld, and covertly working against them wherever possible. I've been doing this for a few years now, since I finished my education and training on Orellia, the Asgard homeworld."

Hammond was fascinated, but also wanted to get back on track. "What are the Asgard's intentions towards Earth?"

"Well, due to the nature of the Protected Planets Treaty we have with the Goa'uld, the Asgard cannot interfere in the development of any human culture in the Milky Way not covered under the Treaty. Thus, unless we manage to get Earth on the list, which would be difficult, any link between us would have to be kept secret from the snakes lest Earth be attacked by the full force of the System Lords. They already regard you as a minor threat. Longer term, the High Council's intentions are the formation of a full alliance with Earth."

"What's the snag with the Protected Planets treaty?" O'Neill butted in.

"Well, the under the existing Treaty, the Goa'uld agree to leave alone all the planets involved. The Asgard protect the planets from direct Goa'uld attack, which is great, but agree to otherwise not intervene in any other threats to those worlds. However, the snag is that under the existing terms, planets included may not be allowed to advance technologically to a point where they may be a threat to the Goa'uld, a level you are unfortunately already at, aptly demonstrated by your vaporising of Ra last year. Our space fleet is heavily engaged in a war in the Ida Galaxy, and thus too overstretched to deploy against the Goa'uld in the Milky Way with any significant force, so for the moment you'd be mostly on your own."

"And you'll get around this how?"

"Oh, that's where I come in." Magni smirked. "I'm the Asgard's response to not being able to openly operate in the Milky Way. I head up a small team of non-Asgard operatives recruited to work against the Goa'uld in secret, obviously with the High Council's permission and backing, although they'd deny any knowledge of it to the snakes. Right now the treaty isn't a priority, since the System Lords don't yet see you as a truly major threat, and obviously don't know you just knocked off Hathor..."

"But that was you."

"Sure, this time, but you'd have figured it out. And you killed Ra last year; that's something most of the rest of the galaxy's being trying to do for millennia. That's why we want to start working with you. You, the Tau'ri, by which I mean the humans of Earth specifically, have shown yourselves to be extremely resourceful and adaptable both in combat and technology, but although ruthless to your enemies and inventive in your tactics, your actions have been well balanced with a compassionate and friendly disposition to other peoples, with a strong moral compass in your decision making. That is a potent combination, and the Asgard High Council believes, with good reason, that Earth would be a major power in this galaxy inside of a few centuries if left to develop on your own, free of Goa'uld interference. However, the Goa'uld are now aware of you, and it will take you far too long to develop even a limited orbital defence system or ships of your own, and as it stands right now they will destroy you before you can get off the ground. On the other hand, if we help you, the Goa'uld may well be destroyed utterly in short order."

"Define 'short-order.'" Hammond asked curiously.

"Within the decade. However, there is one sizeable caveat, General."

"Isn't there always?" O'Neill muttered. Magni flashed him a grin.

"The Stargate is not for the United States alone, but for the people of Earth as a whole. The High Council believes that Earth will advance faster and benefit more if the full scientific and military resources of the planet can be devoted to the project. Of course, we're not going to force you to do this or go public; we're not alien overlords like the Goa'uld. But we do highly recommend it. Our analysis is that many other nations, especially your close allies will jump in enthusiastically to support it and they have many advantages to offer – more funding, access to some very capable military units, R&D facilities, you get the idea. Thus, any alliance would have to contain a concrete time frame for extending the knowledge of the programme at least to other governments. On this, the High Council is rather adamant."

"What about technology trade?" Hammond asked. "If the Asgard have been space-faring for a million years as you claim, then I doubt they want anything that we can produce."

"Very true. We don't want an alliance with you to trade technology; we want to take advantage of your drive to protect Earth and eradicate the Goa'uld. Unfortunately, the Council won't give you full-on high technology transfers: long experience has shown that giving advanced technology directly to a culture as under threat and, no offence, as relatively backward as yours is a very, very bad idea. However, I have undergone significant scientific education as well as military training, and am more than qualified to assist your own R&D teams in … shall we say accelerating your own scientists' development of your capabilities and technology. The High Council will supply examples of our higher technology for your scientists to study, and with my assistance, develop your own versions of them. By higher technology, I mean shield generators, ship technology, power generation, that kind of thing. On the other hand …"Magni's grin was positively devilish, "I have designed some things that would not appear to be of Asgard origin to the Goa'uld. Things like, for example, my combat armour and weapons. The System Lords are well aware of the physical capabilities of the Asgard race – they would not expect the Asgard to have even bothered to design such things for human allies. As such, I can produce a fairly large number of these weapons and supply them to you in a few weeks time."

"I'm happy to hear that. I'll call the President, give him the basics; he'll want more details soon though. Disclosure will be a major risk for us."

"Certainly. Thor will be here tomorrow with the full proposal."

The general nodded and went to his office, leaving behind a silent conference room.

Daniel broke it. "So … you said that 'Magni' myth was far older than you … what's your real name?"

Magni smiled again. "You can call me Harry."

**Please review! **

First Note I want to make is that I'd prefer to shift the timeline for Harry Potter ten years back (i.e. born in 1970) – there are two reasons for this: One, partly explained below, is that I don't think a seventeen year old would be experienced enough to lead the kind of unit outlined below; second, this story would be a Harry Potter/Sam Carter 'ship fic, and shifting Harry's birthdate ten years back evens up their age gap (Carter is born in 1968) to a reasonable distance.

Some more explanation about my thoughts on this – Harry's little unit would be a small group of humans (possibly some of the Hebridean reptilian guys they encounter later in the show as well) who are the Asgard High Council's 'deniable assets' in the Milky Way, nipping at the Goa'uld wherever they can. Obviously, they have Asgard technology backing them up and, would essentially be a heavily armed commando/espionage force with, for example, advanced weaponry and armour, as well as small but well-armed and cloak-capable scout ships and a well developed information network – Harry's been leading and developing this group since he was 20, so they've had seven years to get into the fighting (possibly they'd be allied to the Tok'ra, or at the very least aware of them).

Magic would play a part in Harry's personal capabilities, but when the 'HP universe' storyline became involved (i.e. magical Britain and the blood-supremacists), it would be completely and utterly AU – without Harry around to go to Hogwarts at age 11, the chain of events would be completely different, all the magical characters would have their ages added a few years (so Hermione and Ron would be going to Hogwarts in about 1995 I suppose, in order to keep them in the story, probably with a Neville BWL because Manip!Dumbledore would need a figurehead). That's about the extent of my idea. Comments, reviews, scathing flames, anything is welcome to help me crystallise my thoughts on this.

One last thing: I'm sorely tempted to throw in a mild Tom Clancy crossover and make Jack Ryan the President at the time of Harry making contact. I think it was JA Baker who did something similar to this already, but I really want to do my own for two reasons. One, Jack Ryan is an awesome, morally upstanding guy who always does the right thing, a bit like SG-1's President Henry Hayes; second, in the Clancy books he delivers several awe-inspiring verbal smackdowns on various 'bad-guys' that Clancy delivers with total aplomb - they literally want to make you give a standing ovation. And frankly, I think Kinsey really, really deserves on of those smackdowns ... thoughts?

If Clancy isn't to your liking I could make it Jed Bartlett of the West Wing instead! Equally as awesome.

**Please review! I need to know if I'm going in the right direction with this. **


	2. The Equations Aren't Adding Up

**Okay, another experimental chapter. I really should do some coursework, but what the hell, this is waaaaaay more fun. **

This was suggested to me by on reviewer by the name of Joe Lawyer, whose ideas spawned a whole load of small changes and details for any future writing of this story. This particular one just wouldn't leave me alone though.

See the end of the chapter for more thoughts on how 'Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum' will play out. Don't get your hopes up for any real output any time soon though – I've way too busy with 'real life' right now for any major writing efforts, boring though reality often is. Living in the Stargate-verse would be much more fun…ahhhh…daydreams…

This is basically my take on a meeting between Asgard!Harry (who is still 'under construction', so to speak, as a character, so don't take all this stuff as how the story will actually be written – or the previous chapter for that matter) and Carter, in which he gives her some subtle hints on wormhole theory that allow her to build the DHD, the primary reason she's so revered as a scientist in the show, by getting the Stargate to work. This is all from Sam's POV – you'll see why at the end. If I actually include this in my story, I'll rewrite it to be a kind of 'shot/reverse-shot' scene, switching between the inner monologues of both characters, maybe so I can show Harry's guilt at deceiving her (also appreciating her looks, of course!), but for now, it's all Sam.

I stress that this is basically a prequel chapter; some reviewers have said it doesn't 'flow' that well with the previous one. This is me playing around with different style and content, finding out what works, it isn't really related to the previous chapter.

I may have enormously screwed up Sam as a character in this. Writing relationships is _really_ _hard_, and you correcting me is what that little review box is for. Please use it.

* * *

**PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW! PLEASE REVIEW!**

When you reach the end, of course! ;)

**Experimental Chapter #2**

* * *

The Equations Aren't Adding Up

"_Real intelligence is like a river; __the deeper it is, the less noise it makes."_

_Barbara Delinsky_

* * *

**July 25****th****, 2004 – United States Air Force Academy, Colorado Springs, CO**

The Air Force Academy is a striking collection of buildings. Sitting on a vast 73 square kilometre site on the east side of the Rampart Range of the Rocky Mountains, primarily of aluminium and glass, the architecture is intended to be suggestive of the outer skin of air or spacecraft. The modernist style is very much at odds with the white classical Jerusalem stone buildings of Annapolis or the grey-black granite neo-gothic style of West Point; this is in turn suggestive of the Air Force's commitment to remain on the bleeding edge of science as a part of their contribution to the defence of the United States. Like the other federal military academies, graduation from Colorado Springs grants a Bachelor of Science degree in one of a vast array of technical or humanities based courses.

The campus houses labs dedicated to all aspects of aeronautical, mechanical, electrical and chemical engineering as well as for biology, medicine, physics, astrophysics, cosmology, and astronomy –maybe not quite to the same level as Edwards AFB in California or Groom Lake in Nevada – but nonetheless anything that could possibly enhance the USAF's technical and scientific advantage over potential enemies might be studied when here; either directly, through finding new breakthroughs and innovations, or indirectly, simply by providing a deeper and more sophisticated education to the bright young sparks the USAF hopes will work to maintain its' technical or leadership advantages in years to come. Self reliance and individual research projects are highly encouraged, and to support such activities, the academic staff is top-notch, widely regarded as experts in their fields.

Thus, it was to one specific member of staff that First Lieutenant Samantha 'Sam' Carter returned when she decided to stop banging her head against the current metaphorical brick wall she had run into and seek help with the 'theoretical' issue.

Professor Monroe was the long-time Professor of Astrophysics at the Academy, and the man who had mentored her through her PhD in astrophysics and quantum mechanics during her four years there. Now that she was based at Cheyenne Mountain, just the other side of Colorado Springs, she'd eventually got permission from General West to show Monroe some of the maths of the wormhole theory behind the Stargate, passing it off as a paper she was working on in her spare time while studying 'Deep Space Radar Telemetry' for NORAD at the Mountain. It was decidedly unusual for a Lieutenant to head up such a critical research initiative, but Sam was the one who had cracked most of the barriers that had made more 'experienced' scientists give up and go home – thereby proving once again that 'experienced' could just as easily mean 'narrow-minded' or 'in-the-box'. Of course, with such theoretical science, she could be completely wrong about large chunks of it, but until a few weeks ago the equations seemed to be working out fine.

She entered the wide, airy atrium of Fairchild Hall and manoeuvred through the bustling corridors towards the Consolidated Education and Training Facility (CETF) Annex, the home of the Astro department; she was fairly certain the professor would be coming to the end of the morning lectures about now. Walking though the busy halls now was certainly different to eight years before, when she'd been a wide-eyed, wet-behind-the-ears 18 year old Fourth Class 'doolie' cadet. Even having a two-star general for a father hadn't prepared her for coming here. Now the silver insignia of a First Lieutenant on her dress blues uniform guaranteed her a mostly clear passage (even if to the rest of the Air Force, an O-2 was hardly a senior rank), as those same cadets hastened to get out of her way, bracing to attention as she passed, sometimes with a nod of thanks from her if they were paying attention (no salutes were delivered while indoors – a mistake she'd made a few times back then).

She'd been right about the professor's schedule, and she had timed her arrival to perfection as he wrapped up just as she entered the back of the auditorium. After waiting for the initial flood of Firsties – fourth years, First Class cadets – she approached the tweed-jacketed academic still fussing with his notes at the lecturer's desk. When she got a few metres away, he looked up in surprise before smiling widely.

"Sam!"

"Hi, professor." Sam could actually _feel_ herself slipping back into old habits.

"You don't have to call me that anymore, Sam."

"True, but …" she didn't have to say it.

"I suppose." He laughed. "We never stop being students, after all."

"Indeed."

"So is this a social visit? Of course, normally you'd call, and probably wouldn't wear uniform, but I'm sure Marie would be happy to see you."

"Professional, sort of." Sam handed over one of several ring binders she'd been carrying. "I've run into a brick wall on a paper I'm working on while at NORAD. I'm actually here for something else, I just wanted to drop this off too."

The professor looked over the abstract on the first page. "Oh wow, this is good stuff. When do you want a response? I'm free all afternoon … well, I should be grading papers, but this is way more fun."

"I'm overnighting here, so tomorrow if you can. If not, well, I'm only over at Cheyenne."

"Good, good. So, how are you doing?"

* * *

A few hours later, Sam was having a break. She'd completed the 'cover mission' General West's people had put together to explain her visit to the Academy – the security staff at Cheyenne were even more OCD than she was – which had been a terminally boring lecture on radar propagation in near-earth orbit._ Thank god it only took a couple of hours_.

She hit the cafeteria for a late lunch and a very large coffee. The Air Force had apparently capitulated to the tide of globalisation at some point since her time here, as part of massive dining complex in Mitchell Hall was now a Starbucks outlet. She found a table to sit at and began eating, idly flipping though the spare copy her 'paper' she'd brought. Her astrophysical reverie was disturbed, however, when someone came up to stand behind the chair on the opposite side.

"Lieutenant Carter?"

Sam looked up, startled but giving the stranger a quick once over: black combat boots, scuffed and worn but clean and maintained; dark grey cargo trousers, white shirt under an unzipped black leather jacket, brown leather messenger bag, about six foot tall. He also had a blue tag on his jacket, proclaiming "Visitors Pass, Access Level 2, No Escort Required." _Huh, no escort's unusual. Probably ex-military. _Then she met his eyes; intense, _powerful_ green eyes set into a _seriously_ handsome face; square jaw, slight five o'clock shadow; slightly messy raven black hair, shoulder length, even longer at the back. _Okay, so maybe not military with that haircut._ It was still his eyes that drew attention though; like when he looked at you, he saw everything you were trying to hide.

"That's what it says on my nametag, Mister …?" Sam was pleased she didn't fumble that. She might have been a mildly introverted genius since early childhood, but she wasn't by any means a hermit.

"James Black." He smiled, then grimaced. "Okay, so maybe it's Hadrian James Black, but for the love of god don't tell anyone." He indicated the spare chair, "May I?"

"Sure, but why?" Sam flipped her ringbinder closed.

Black took a seat, then reached into his bag and took out his own file. "Well, getting straight to the point, your name's been mentioned around the water cooler as a notable astrophysicist, one of the top physicists the Academy ever produced, actually."

"Water cooler?" Sam raised an eyebrow. "Really…they discuss astrophysicists around the water cooler now?"

Black grinned, and Sam had to strangle the desire to give him a different kind of once-over look. _No no no, no undressing the guy with your eyes, however easy on them he may be. _

"When they look like you, they do." Sam blinked in surprise, but he'd already moved on. "Actually, Prof Monroe mentioned a paper you wrote when you were here in a lecture, and said you were one of the best students he ever had. High praise, and from a man who doesn't say that kind of thing easily."

"Uh-huh." _Uh-huh is a good word. Non-committal._

"So I wanted to ask you to look something over for me, if you had the time anyways. If not," Black shrugged with a slightly guilty smile, "then at least I'd have some pleasant conversation."

"Flattery will get you somewhere," Sam said dryly, "but not necessarily everywhere."

"Very true." He motioned with the file. "Interested?"

"I'll take a look." Sam accepted it. _Not like I've got anything else to do until tomorrow._

The title page proclaimed _"Analysis of potential interstellar travel via Lorentzian wormhole under possible variations on the conditions of the Casimir Effect."_ Sam felt a smile spread across her face. _My bread and butter, this is._

"Interesting." Sam looked up from reading the intro. "You just going to wait?"

Black shrugged. "Not doing anything else, to be honest. Probably won't take you very long."

"Again, your flattery is noted." Sam looked down again. "I'll give you points for subtlety that time though."

He laughed. "Thank you, I like to think I'm a quick study."

Sam looked up again, then came to a decision and pushed her own 'project' file across to the guy. "Is that so? Here. Should keep you occupied."

"Why thank you." He accepted hers, and started reading without further comment.

* * *

It took her about four hours to work through James Black's thesis, which quickly turned out to be thoroughly thought provoking. He'd taken some of the more contentious points behind wormhole travel as it was being discussed in the academic forum, and presented a well-reasoned paper based on the positions taken on each side of the debate – of course, they didn't have access to data on the Stargate, or at least what little they knew for certain about it. It wasn't truly cutting-edge research, but it was the first time she'd seen all the major possible lines of argument on wormhole theory discussed so coherently and succinctly, and did present some new points. By the time she was done, the Hall was about to open up for the cadets' dinner, and she looked up to find the now-revealed-to-be-a-genius-in-disguise Mr Black making some notes on a reporter's notepad as he too finished the last few pages of her document.

"Well?"

"This is bloody interesting." He looked up, clearly relishing the intellectual challenge of simply reading the paper – it was well beyond even some professional physicists' level of understanding. "I'd say you're making just a few too many assumptions though."

"Do tell?" Sam settled in to hear a critique. One of the key principles of being a scientist was having to be able to admit when you're wrong; unlike certain other scientists, including those who'd worked on the Stargate, Carter didn't have an ego problem in that regard.

"Well. Point one. You're assuming the dimensions of the wormhole will be a perfect circle exactly 6.725 metres in diameter – you got some proof of that please?"

_Oh shit._ Sam mentally smacked the back of her head._ Really should have seen that coming, and I can't explain that the Stargate is exactly that diameter, to the micron. _"You know how it is. With something this impossible to test..." She shrugged. "In my defence, the maths should work no matter what size the wormhole is scaled up or down to."

"True. Second, you're assuming that the wormhole is creating a 'folding effect', reducing the distance travelled to essentially zero, making travel through it like stepping through a door."

"Well, yes, it does have to go from point A to point B somehow."

"Not if the wormhole _connects _two points in space by bringing them _closer_ together relatively speaking but not entirely and _fully_ together. It'd still be way quicker than sublight travel obviously, but the transportation might not be instantaneous, a few seconds maybe. Of course it would _feel_ like travelling at superluminal velocity due to time-dilation but might actually be just a constant velocity determined by whatever speed the object entered the event horizon at, even if that was just walking pace – provided anything could enter the wormhole without being destroyed either on entry or during transit of course."

"Well, that's an assumption that has to be made; otherwise there'd be little point in studying it." Sam shot back.

"Well, yes, very true. Last one, you're assuming travel is two-way. That might not be the case. Analogy of a funnel with one wide end – the event horizon at point A – but with more of pinprick at the other end – letting the travelling objects out but not back in. I don't think your equations account for that possibility."

Sam sat back to consider that for a few seconds. "Okay. I'll bite on that last one. Maybe not the analogy – even a pinprick would be enough to let _something_ back in, but …"

_**(A/N God knows I'm not Stephen Hawking. This is probably a load of crap. Any FanFiction-reading astrophysicists feel free to correct my terrible science. I don't think even an A* in **__**GCSE **__**Physics gave me the proper background for schpieling on Wormhole theories).**_

* * *

Another few hours later, and the cafeteria was almost entirely empty. Sam and James – _oh hell, I'm already thinking of him in first name terms, that was quick – _had 'gamed out' his points, with his own project entirely forgotten. Eventually, the quiet but lively debate petered out as they both sat back to think. Sam was certain it would give her some new lines of investigation, even if it didn't solve the issue she'd originally come for help from Monroe for.

"You know what ..." Sam announced with a small smile

"Brain drain?" James interjected with a tired grin.

"Yeah. While it is my job, seven hours of multi-dimensional math theory without a Cray Mainframe in support is hard on the grey matter."

He laughed, stretching. "Well, if you're not _too_ tired, I'll buy you a drink in the Officer's Club." His eyes danced, daring her to accept.

Samantha Carter was not in the Air Force because she was a coward; and besides, she wanted to know more about this tall, dark and mysterious stranger who obviously wasn't scared off by her mind. "Sure. Although, no shop-talk unless it's a) unclassified, or b) not astrophysics related."

"Hell yes."

As it turned out, they were both staying in the visitor's accommodation right next to the Club. Used for formal functions as well as everyday socialising, the Officer's Club usually required formal, or at least _more_ formal dress or uniform. She changed into semi-formal blues – skirt, light blue shirt, dark blue jacket with award ribbons and met him downstairs again, where she was treated to the sight of a clearly slightly-awkward James Black in a tailored charcoal suit and tie.

_**(A/N – Information on USAF traditions, informal nicknames, dress codes, etc would be appreciated. Not just for the O-clubs, which I understand might be going out of style in recent years, but for everyday stuff as well. For now, I'm basically describing British Officer's Mess traditions as I'm familiar with them.**_

_** Getting the little details right is one of the best ways of creating a rich, believable world for the story to take place in, and it's the background of often odd, quirky informal traditions that often make military life bearable – because we sure don't do it for the pay. Also, I have a very visual imagination, and whenever I read something I 'convert' it in my head into a more cinematic kind of style, visualising it as if I was watching a film, and the extra details just add colour and vibrancy to it when I describe it on electronic paper.)**_

"Not used to the suit, huh?"

He grinned slightly sheepishly, rubbed his now-smooth jawline. "No, I hate them actually."

"You know," she said conversationally, as they left the block, "That haircut's gonna catch hell from all the straight-laced academy instructors. They spend all their time straightening out scruffy cadets, and that," she checked for a moment, "is almost long enough for a ponytail."

"Oh, it is." James smirked, reaching up to tie it back before offering her his elbow chivalrously, which she accepted by putting a hand on his upper arm. She was slightly startled to find his bicep was seriously hard muscle – this guy was no average geek, he was damn fit. _No double meanings intended, none at all, don't go there Sam._

At the club, she waited until he'd returned with their drinks and joined her out on the terrace: ice-filled Mojito for her, as Colorado's semi-arid climate tended to make the evenings a bit warm, and some British brand of cider for him. There was a thunderstorm coming in from the east that lit up the mountain ridgelines with occasional flashes of lightning.

"That'll be here in a few hours." She said, nodding towards it.

"Damn, we're bad at this." James chuckled, handing her the glass. "After seven hours of wormholes, the best thing we can come up with to talk about is weather?"

Sam bit back a sharp retort, and blushed slightly. "Yeah. In our defence, we're both underappreciated, introverted geniuses."

"Underappreciated?" he raised an eyebrow, and she shrugged.

"Yeah, to a point. NORAD's a nerd haven, obviously; anything that technical is. But sometimes gender still gets in the way."

"I can believe that. Had any trouble?"

"Not any more." Sam couldn't contain a smirk.

"What happened?"

"Well, without too many classified details, I proved them all wrong and got put in charge of the team."

He laughed quietly. "Nice going. What can you tell me?"

"NORAD?"

"Yep."

"Nothing special. Deep space radar telemetry."

"Really," he drawled, drawing the word out. "They give Air Medals out for analysing radar returns?"

Sam's hand reflexively came up to the ribbons board on her left breast. "Ah, no, I was a pilot first. My F-15 ate one of those Stingers the CIA sold to the Taliban. I managed to fly it a couple of hundred miles and land it."

_**(AN – No fixed wing aircraft have in fact been shot down in the War in Afghanistan, just to be clear, although some have been destroyed on the ground or lost to accidents. The reason Sam's flying service wasn't in the Gulf War WILL BECOME CLEAR in the points at the end. Short version, I'm shifting SG-1's timeline forward ten years instead of Harry Potter's timeline ten years backwards). And yes I know she's awarded the Air Medal later on, when Jacob Carter gets introduced I think, slight change there just for this one shot probably)**_

"Managed?" James' tone was teasing, not sarcastic. "I think you should elaborate on 'ate a missile,' and how much of the aircraft was left after it did so."

"Well, I still had one engine and most of the right wing." Sam admitted. "It was lucky, not brave. They found shrapnel embedded in the turbine of the other engine when I got landed. I should have just ejected before the aircraft could blow up and take me with it."

"So, basically, you flew a damaged Strike Eagle several hundred miles back to base … with only half a functioning engine and one wing?"

"Well…yeah. As I said, seemed like a stupid thing to do once I'd landed and rational thought set in again."

"Sounds like you deserved it to me."

"How would you know, exactly?" Sam demanded, a little annoyed at being pressed on the incident.

James backed off, a bit. "I'm a qualified jet pilot too; best way to learn what really happens in the air. I'm here to help rewrite the avionics code for the Raptor."

"Fair enough." Sam turned away, looking back out into the night. "I don't like to talk about it much."

He acquiesced easily. "Okay. Your pick of topic, then."

"Well, what do you do? Aside from avionics programming, which I can tell really isn't what you _want_ to be doing."

James grimaced. "You got that right. Working on the F-22 is cool, don't get me wrong, but the programming side of it is god-awfully boring, basically just debugging the crappy systems Lockheed's subcontractors lumped you guys with. I'd much rather be flying it, but they don't let us code jockeys anywhere near the actual hardware."

"How bad is it?"

"The software? Oh, it works, it just doesn't work nearly as well as it _should_. Or as well as it needs to work." James shrugged. "I'm just glad I'm a British taxpayer, 'cos you sure didn't get your money's worth."

"British?" Sam eyed him. "I thought the accent wasn't _quite_ East Coast."

"Yeah, they call it a 'Transatlantic accent'. I've spent so long away from England I've lost the _spiffy_ upper-class drawl I used to sport."

"Upper class? _Spiffy_?" Sam grinned playfully. "With a leather jacket and ponytail?"

"Just living up to my reputation."

"What reputation is that?"

"What, back in England?" She nodded. "Well, in certain rarefied circles they see me as a rabble-rousing, rakehell smart-arse with far, _far_ too much IQ for his own good who _insists _on not doing as a good, well-raised young man should do and'go into society'. That, or join the Army or something to get me out of the way. I'm an embarrassment, so they say."

"Oh? What did you do?"

"Nothing!" His protest was a little too innocent.

"I don't believe that for a second."

"Well, there may have been this one time …"

"Go on."

"I might, hypothetically, have spiked the punch at a ball about four years ago. It, ah, lowered inhibitions a little _too_ far."

Sam eyed him dubiously. "I don't believe a word of it."

James grinned and raised his hand in a three finger salute, "Scout's honour."

"I may have only met you today, but I can tell you were never a Scout. And you've probably got your fingers crossed behind your back."

He laughed again, leaning with his back on the railing as she faced outwards towards the mountains. "Damn, busted. Let's just say, I'll never think of the Duchess of York the same way again." Shuddering theatrically, he added, "Scarred me for life, that did."

"So, what does your family think of your 'reputation'?" Sam could instantly tell she'd hit a bad spot with that. He looked away, posture stiffening up, and she unconsciously reached out to place a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"No, it's fine. Perfectly innocent question." He turned, looking out into the night. "I never knew my parents, but …" with a sudden smile at her, "I think they'd approve. My dad was apparently a noted prankster as well, so I'm just continuing the tradition. They left me a significant inheritance, though, so I basically just do what I want."

"Is that how a high-society rabble-rouser ends up programming avionics operating systems?"

"Well, I kinda drifted around for a bit. I've studied all over the place – MIT, Cairo, Tokyo. Now I'm just working freelance, taking jobs that interest me. Most of the defence contractors know my qualifications – I made a name for myself a few years ago by winning a cryptography-hacking competition the NSA ran, and hell, I'm a shareholder in quite a few of them – and they sometimes hire me for things like, for example, fixing the Raptor without overspending their budget; whoops, I meant _further _overspending their budget."

Sam had to crack a smile at that. "Built by the lowest bidder …"

"Tell me about it. The original coding looks like it was programmed by a few hundred of those chimpanzees trying to write Shakespeare with a typewriter by typing randomly. I don't know what the hell Lockheed were smoking when they decided the sub-contractor's work was good enough for a one hundred and fifty million dollar per unit aircraft, but they got thoroughly ripped off."

* * *

After almost two hours of chat in the club with James and a few instructors and teachers she knew, they had moved back out onto the terrace, the early night air a bit cooler than when they had started there, and there was no one around. Sam had found the still-mysterious, tall, dark and handsome self-professed English aristocratic bad-boy to be not only highly intelligent but thoroughly charming with a rapier-quick wit. This was probably not good, because although she'd never thought she had a 'type,' Sam had just discovered she really, really did … and God help her but she just couldn't _no_t make a pass at him.

"So … anything to that rakehell reputation, or just hot air?" _Dipping a toe in the water_.

James blinked at the total non-sequitur, then smirked. "Well, I suppose there's only one way for you to find out."

She decided to play just a little hard-to-get; thrill of the chase and all that. "Oh really? How's that?"

His smile turned _extremely _suggestive as he shifted closer along the railing, turning so her upper arm was touching his chest. If she turned her head to the right … _no, no, no, resist the temptation to look, it's the O-Club, somebody is bound to be watching._ Suddenly the night was much, much warmer than it had been; she had to fight the urge to undo her uniform collar.

"Well, since that Mojito seems to have lowered some of _your_ inhibitions …" Sam rolled her eyes and he continued on in a much lower tone, "we _could_ get out of here and have a more … private demonstration."

"Oh? I'm not sure such a demonstration would be worth my valuable time, Mr Black. I'm a very busy woman, after all."

"Seeking scientific confirmation, Lieutenant _Doctor_ Carter? I _could_ kiss you…" He shifted slightly behind her, speaking low and oh-so _very_ seductively into her ear. _Damn he really is good at this_. "Then you would have your … empirical data, so to speak." _Corny, but I invited that._

"You could." Sam realised she had a very tight grip on the railing, and forced her hand to relax. "But such activities in this place could be … unbecoming of an officer in the United States Air Force."

"True … the walls have eyes. But what about somewhere else?"

"Well then," Sam took a sip, then looked him right in the eye. "I suppose we should leave."

His green eyes sparkled with anticipation and humour. "I suppose we should."

"Lead on."

* * *

**Lemons would be here, but since I've never written it before, I'll leave it out. Assume 'James' (ie Harry) and Sam had wild hot monkey sex and leave it at that?**

**This is my first attempt at writing anything akin to a post-coitus scene. It's probably horrifically corny, but what the hell, hopefully it should get a laugh.**

* * *

The next morning, Sam awoke with the warm rays of another fine Colorado sunrise on her face and another, more organic heat source pressed against her back. She lay there for a few seconds before realising exactly what - or more precisely, who that source was, and tried to gently twist around in his iron-hard arms to look at him. _Damn this man works out a lot._

"Morning." She finally got a look at the smiling face of James Black. His long black hair had come out of the ponytail he wore it in and was looking decidedly wild. _Much like the man himself._

"Back at you." She stretched luxuriantly, smirking at the look of rampant lust that came over his features. "What time is it? And whose room did we end up in?"

"Oh-seven-forty-five." He ran a hand up her body, a light touch that nonetheless was driving her wild. "And your room, I'm pretty certain. It's hard to tell, with the mess we made."

"You'd better stop that," she swatted his hand away playfully, "or we won't get anywhere this morning."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"Maybe for you – this _is_ something of a risk for me, you know. A one night stand in the visitor's block – I'll probably be fuelling the cadet gossip machine for days."

"Why, have I tempted you into sin, Lieutenant?" James grinned at her unrepentantly. "The sin of breaking regulations, at least? I must be Lucifer himself to have been successful in that!"

She pushed him over from his position leaning on one elbow, and sat astride him, leaning down with her elbows either side of his head to look into his eyes. "I don't think this is in violation of regs; you're a civilian of a key allied nation, I don't think the spy-catchers, paranoid though they are, will be so bothered about you. As for being Lucifer…" she moved her hips, grinding over a _particular_ spot.

James groaned under her, but managed, "I thought Angels weren't allowed to tempt people this way."

"Not on duty, maybe."

"Okay, enough." He grabbed her under the arms and flipped them over, putting himself back on top. "Your choice?"

"You're giving me a choice? Of what, breakfast or nookie?" Sam arched an eyebrow acerbically. "You're male, I wouldn't have thought you had that much self control."

"Oh, I think I proved I have _plenty_ of control last night. Several times, in fact."

Sam's mind blanked for a few seconds. "Very true," she eventually managed, "there really was something to that reputation after all."

He laughed, and leaned down to kiss her; it went on for quite a while.

Unsurprisingly they were late for breakfast.

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(A/N: Consider this an omake – an alternative version of the scene of SG-1's reaction to 'Magni' taking of his helmet.)

"Who are you?"

Magni turned from the windows and reached up to remove the helmet. None of the SGC personnel knew what to expect – yes, the guy was humanoid, but that didn't necessarily mean human. They didn't have anything to worry about, however, in that regard, as the head that was revealed was clearly _homo sapiens_. Raven black hair, cut long and tied up in a short braid to fit inside the helmet, and startlingly intense emerald green eyes set into a young face.

"Jesus! You're just a teenager!" O'Neill was too astonished to hold it in.

Magni didn't react, because he was watching Sam Carter's expression flicker through a range of emotions – confusion, surprise, shock, stupefaction, confusion again, then, finally, anger. Possibly rage. _This is not going to be fun._

The genius' first coherent thought?

**_JAMES BLACK YOU LYING SON-OF-A-BITCH!_**

(A/N – This might make the relationship a _bit_ difficult, but was still pretty funny. Assume Carter and 'James' kept in touch – email of course, maybe Harry has an interstellar 'hook' into the cellphone system – but they've never met up again, because 'James' was never able to 'find the time' to come back to Colorado Springs. Obviously, that was because he was running commando missions against the Goa'uld, but Sam doesn't know that, does she!)

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**NOTES ON SI VIS PACEM, PARA BELLUM**

Don't consider either of the two previous chapters to be 'Canon' for what I'm planning to write. I really am just experimenting, fiddling around with different ideas that pop into my head. When I have a time – sometime late next week and next weekend – I'll start writing for keeps, and the first post will be around or before the end of the month.

**What I have decided for certain:**

Regarding timelines: Harry Potter dates will stay the same – born in 1980, parents murdered Halloween 1981 – but Stargate's timeline will be pushed back ten years – so instead of the Gate's first mission (the Kurt Russel one) being in 1995, it's in 2005. This will allow me to, obviously, even up Carter/Harry's age difference (she would now be born in 1978, two years before), but it will also allow the USAF/SGC to take advantage of a lot of Earth military tech that has been developed in the last few years for the War on Terror – war may be terrible; it brings out the worst and the best in humanity, and the last few years have seen a massive surge in innovation in military hardware – and software, for that matter. Cyberspace may play a role. Armed drones certainly will. Prometheus will be much more powerful than in the show, rest assured.

I'm taking the Gate to be slightly under seven metres wide, which is canon for the show – but you might be interested to know that an Abrams tank is 3.66m high and 2.44m tall, which means it fits easily; that should give you some idea of where I'm going with this (wink wink) - an Abrams that has been suitably upgraded with inventions derived from Asgard tech, of course (amongst other things, to improve fuel efficiency. A quarter mile to the gallon? Jesus). It's just an idea, it won't be some kind of BOLO class super-tank, but it would give some Jaffa a shock, I suspect.

I'm obviously not just going to have Harry hand the keys for a _Beliskner_ class cruiser over to the SGC – they'll have to work for it, and obviously it'll be some bright spark's idea to combine Asgard tech and already-existing hardware to make it 'cost-effective.' The SGC's anti-Goa'uld effort will be a mixture of smart tactics, concentrated heavy firepower, misdirection and alliances with key races. I'm taking the spacebattle's forum story 'Stargate: Project Arctic Circle' as something of a model for this. Look it up through TVTropes SG-1 fanfiction recommendation page if you can't find it.

**The President will be Ryan.** In my opinion, he'd have a more aggressive stance on the Stargate than Bartlett would – at heart, Ryan's still an action man ex-Marine, CIA analyst-who-gets-into-trouble even if he's now the Prez. Bartlett's a great character, and thoroughly deserves his fan-awarded title of 'The best President America never had,' but he's a bit more of a pacifist, inclined to negotiate if he can. Ryan's more along the lines of '_The galaxy's enslaved by a bunch of ruthless, hyper-powerful alien overlords? Well, we're not going to stand for that. Send the Marines_!' That said, he's not a George Bush-style overaggressive, crusading idiot, but he's very much prepared to use force if he deems it morally justifiable – even if the results may look underhanded to others (reference the assassination of Daryaei in Executive Orders). Also, Ryan's response to the NID and Kinsey would likely be something along the lines of 'throw them in jail ASAP,' which is going to be great fun to write.

**Story points still under consideration**

What to do with the Antarctic outpost – whether or not to have Harry detect it early on. It's a bit of a shortcut in my opinion, I'd rather see the SGC get geared up and raring to go before handing them the key to infinite knowledge really early on – ie Atlantis.

**Concerning Harry's team: **

Obviously there will have to be OC's on the squad – I can't reasonably introduce all that many characters, even well known ones from either franchise all that early on. However, AT SOME POINT, these characters stand a chance of joining 'Harry's squad,' for which I don't yet have a name.

Jonas Quinn – Vala Mal Doran – Warrick/Eamon Finn (two Serrakin aliens from Hebridan) – Nymphadora Tonks – Sirius Black – Fred/George Weasley – Bill Weasley (less sure of) – Remus Lupin – Hermione Granger – _possibly_ other Hogwarts personas, but only if they seem 'the type' to be able to break out of the magical rut and study a lot of hard science as well. I stress, this will not be a Harry!Multi (at least not this story.) That is WORD OF GOD so to speak, so put up with it!

OC's on the team might also come to include the Tollans at some point. Maybe out of gratitude for Harry smacking down the NID for them, or getting the POTUS to do so.

Also included in the intelligence network Harry's team will be running in the background will be Teal'c and Bra'tac (who are both considering treason long before SG1 show up, they're just waiting for the best moment), possibly also Ishtar (of the all-female Amazon Jaffa tribe from later on in the show) and some of the Sodan clan from Season 9-10. I'll have to do more research into the show's characters to work out who can be 'recruited' as early as possible.

Harry's squad will also have access to spaceships. I'm currently thinking of equipping them with a flight of what I'd call 'recon/covert ops corvettes' – hyperspace capable, very small crew, possibly one or two people, with lots of stealth/sensors and a few weapons (maybe Ancient drones or an Asgard equivalent), but large enough to carry the supplies for extended surveillance/intelligence operations without notice. Also quite versatile for other missions, with a cargo bay, extra weapons modules that can be attached, that kind of thing. I'm envisaging something that looks like a cross between the SR-71 and Serenity. Painted black, obviously and with a cool-but-obscure name, something a little more intelligent than 'Shadow' or similar.

They might also have one or two larger, more combat capable craft. Not Beliskner sized, and still 'stealth' specialised since they're covert ops ships, but more powerful than the smaller ones. Maybe a kind of 'mothership' for the smaller ones.

Beliskner, by the way, is the Anglicised name of Thor's home in Asgard mythology. A fitting name for the Supreme Commander's ship, don't you think?

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**PLEASE REVIEW!**


	3. Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum now published

The 'real' version of 'Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum' can now be found on this site. This is just to alert all you kind people who 'followed' my experimental chapters of this fact (thanks very much by the way).

See you around the galaxy.

GF1911


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